


The End of it All?

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, During Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-30
Updated: 2006-09-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 03:54:36
Rating: Teen & Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8695495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Sam has to decide if he's staying or leaving.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Title: The end of it all?  
Author: Kali  
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean  
Rating: PG13  
Category: Drama, Angst  
Word Count: 1832  
Spoilers: Vauge spoilers of Shadow  
Summary: Sam has to decide if he's staying or leaving.  
Notes/Warnings: I was thinking about Sam and Dean's conversation in Shadow and what might happen if they do get the Ceiling Demon. This is what I came up with. Comments and con crit are loved.  
  
  
  
The explosion knocks them all of their feet. Dean crashes through the window, landing on the soft grass outside. Sam is thrown into a corner, banging his head on the wall. John is knocked backwards, slamming against the wall but managing to land on his feet. For a long, drawn-out minute, none of them move. Then Dean coughs, wipes blood off his face, and clambers back through the window, his voice scratchy when he calls for Sam.   
  
Sam just moans in response, trying to think through the ringing in his ears. Hands are suddenly wrapping around his arms, helping him sit up. Fingers brush down his face, from temple to jaw, and then he is being pulled upright. He stumbles, collapsing forward into his brother’s waiting arms. His head is pounding, his whole body aching, and he really wishes his ears would stop ringing.  
  
“Boys, you okay?”John croaks, and Dean replies for both of them, running his fingers through Sam’s hair and not caring that he’s just getting more blood in the already soaked strands. His other hand is running up and down Sam’s back, searching for wounds. Sam hisses when his palm runs over a deep bruise and then he pulls back, lips twisting in a small, weary smile, silent reassuance that he’s fine. Dean grins back and finally turns to face their father.  
  
John’s standing in the middle of the room, inside the ring of sulphur and ash, the only sign that’s left of the demon. His body is stock still, tension thrumming through his muscles. His face is empty, blank, but Dean can see the shock in his eyes. For the first time, he realises what’s just happened. He can tell by the way Sam suddenly tenses that he’s figured it out too.   
  
He frowns, trying to understand it all, but he can’t. He’s spent so long waiting for this moment, chasing it with everything he had, and now that it’s here, he can’t make himself believe it. Demons pull tricks, they come back, it can’t be over this easy. Not that it was particularily easy, he thinks with a mental smirk. But… it can’t be over.   
  
None of them are sure how long they stand there, it could’ve been a minute or a decade. Finally, John manages to bark an order and they’re all leaving, Sam helping Dean because he’d forgotten to mention that he broke his leg. John drives, whilst Sam and Dean sit in the back, doing their best to clean and dress their wounds. Dean downs two shots of whisky and still screams when Sam sets his leg with one quick jerk. Sam sits as still as possible whilst Dean stitches up the huge gash running across his ribs, only flinching occasionally.  
  
After half an hour of driving, John pulls over and stumbles off into a nearby field. When Dean asks him where he’s going, he just shouts that he’ll be back in a bit and to stay put. Dean doesn’t ask twice, just leans back against the seat and tries to think through the throbbing pain.   
  
“Did we do it?” Sam asks, his voice low and hoarse. Dean closes his eyes and nods, instantly regretting it when the action makes him want to throw up.  
  
“It’s… it’s really over?”   
  
And Dean would be pissed, would mumble something about Sam never being able to just shut up, but the faint thread of uncertainty in his voice stops him. He opens his eyes and lets his head roll to the side. Sam’s staring out the window, one hand pressed against his ribs and the other poking at a bruise just above his knee, visible through the hole in his jeans.  
  
“Yeah, man,” Dean whispers, “It’s really over.”   
  
Sam nods fractionally, a faint frown creasing his brows, and Dean closes his eyes again, content to sit in silence for a while, to give his mind a little bit of time to adjust. He’s starting to let himself believe that it’s over, that he can rest now, just a little bit. For years, all he’d known is the thirst for its blood, the need to see it dead. He’s got that now, hell, he’s got its blood drying on his skin. Now, he can rest easy, and know that the only thing he has to do now is wipe out all the other evil creatures he comes across.  
  
And yet, one thing was bugging him. A long ago conversation was flittering through his mind, words he’d tried to forget bubbling to the surface. He opened his eyes just enough to glance at his brother, who was still staring out the window. It takes him a few minutes to work up the courage to speak, and when he does, he hopes that Sam will take the tremor in his voice for pain.  
  
“What’re you gonna do now?”   
  
For a moment, he’s not sure Sam heard him, but then Sam sighs and lets his head fall back so that he can stare at the Impala’s roof instead.  
  
“I don’t know,” he admits softly.   
  
“You said you were gonna go back to school,” Dean prompts, and Sam frowns, almost in annoyance.  
  
“I don’t know, Dean. Can we just leave it?”   
  
“Sure.”   
  
\---  
  
The hospital is bright and clean and harsh. Sam fidgets nervously in the waiting room, trying not to wince at the pain in his ribs. He wishes he could get them seen to by a doctor, but doesn’t want to explain how come they’re already stitched, albeit rather clumsily. He hopes they don’t keep Dean overnight, wants to take his brother back to whatever motel they can find and make sure he’s really alright. Well, as alright as he can be.   
  
Sam sighs and downs the last of his cold coffee that some nurse had pushed into his hands. He looks around, trying to find some distraction from his thoughts, but the only magazine is about golfing and there is no way he’s gonna read that.  
  
Dean’s question hung in his mind like smoke, twisting and writhing and begging for an answer. An answer that he didn’t have. When’d they’d first talked about it, all those months ago, he’d truly meant what he said. If it had really been over that night, if it hadn’t been a trap, he would’ve gone back to school. Maybe become a lawyer like he first intended, maybe just get some run of the mill job and a nice apartment and lived a quiet, normal life.  
  
But things had changed now, _he_ had changed. The past few months had been so chaotic, a frantic chase as they crashed through town after town, never losing a minute if they didn’t have to, and it had all lead to tonight. The end of it all. During the last months, he and Dean had been through more shit than the rest of their lives put together. They’d talked more, shared more. All those secrets that Dean had been holding on to, all that guilt and worry and pain, it had been spilled into the light. It hadn’t been easy, it never was with Dean, but they’d managed it.   
  
The thought of leaving his brother now, of only seeing him maybe once every few months, tore at his heart. He couldn’t imagine it. He couldn’t imagine going to sleep and not knowing that his brother was just a foot away. He couldn’t imagine going through his day without any friendly jabs from Dean about one thing or another.   
  
But he didn’t want to keep doing this, he _couldn’t_ keep doing this. Sleeping in annonymous motel rooms, living off junk food, coffee and greasy fast food, spending hours and days and weeks on the road, searching the newspapers for weird deaths and strange occurances… it was too tiring. Every day, it felt like his soul was getting just a little more worn.   
  
Sam sighs and runs a hand through his sticky hair, wishing he could sort this out. He doesn’t want to keep hunting, but he can’t leave Dean behind and he can’t keep Dean without continuing to hunt. It was a tangle of contradictions and paradoxes and it was giving him a headache.  
  
It’s only when the doctor coughs that Sam realises he’s not alone in the room anymore. He springs to his feet, ignoring the pain the shoots through his body, and asks for the only thing he’s certain he wants at the moment.  
  
“Can I take him home?”   
  
An odd choice of words, he admits, but doesn’t spare it more than a passing thought. The doctor smiles tightly and nods. Sam sags in relief and can only nod as the doctor recites a list of instructions for how to care for Dean. He rushes through the paperwork as fast as he can, and the night air is the sweetest thing he’s known in a long time.   
  
Dean’s silent as they walk across the parking lot, awkward with his crutches, and doesn’t even object when Sam moves to the driver’s side. Sam knows that’s odd, that even half-dead Dean would insist on driving, but doesn’t comment on it.  
  
“Where’s Dad?” Dean asks once they’ve pulled out on to the road, and Sam glances at him.  
  
“Didn’t say. Said he’d be back at the motel by tomorrow evening and to not do anything without him.”   
  
Dean just grunts lets silence fall again. Sam can tell he wants to talk, can practically feel the tension coming off him in waves, and wonders how long it will be before he can’t take it any longer. Dean is not exactly known for his patience.  
  
It turns out Dean can only last until they’ve arrived at the motel. He sits down on one of the beds, tossing the crutches away, and just looks at him. Sam avoids his gaze, tries to work out how to say ‘I don’t know’ without pissing Dean off.  
  
“You gotta tell me,” Dean mutters, and there’s an odd tremble in his voice that Sam doesn’t like to think about. “I gotta know if you’re gonna… leave again.”   
  
And dammit but Dean’s not allowed to sound vulnerable. It’s against the rules and it just about breaks Sam’s heart. He looks at Dean and suddenly, there is no hesitation. He knows his answer, can’t believe he didn’t know it before, and the clarity is such a rush of relief that he nearly falls down. It’s like some physical weight has been lifted off his shoulders.   
  
He stumbles as he walks towards the bed, and only manages two steps before he’s falling to his knees. It’s close enough, though, and he rests his cheek against Dean’s knee, feeling the warm skin through the faded, worn jeans.  
  
“I’m not going anywhere,” he mutters, quiet but with force, and feels the faint tremor that runs through Dean’s body. Fingers tangle in his hair and Sam thinks, yes, this is where he should be, here and no place else.  
 


End file.
